


Bar Fight

by VickyStark



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Fighting solves all problems, Fist Fights, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 10:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30020223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickyStark/pseuds/VickyStark
Summary: 'With a startled cry, the detective slid flat on a table, -knocking on his merry  way the customers' drinks- and crashing unceremoniously on the floor stained with liquor and cigar ashes. Blessed were the alcohol and adrenaline that kept him from feeling the pulsing pain in his dislocated shoulder.'





	Bar Fight

Disclaimer : Sherlock Holmes isn't mine, neither is Conan Doyle (oh no).

Bar Fight

With a simple shrug, Sherlock dodged an umpteenth attempt from his opponent to hit him with his plump and calloused hand. The poor man, carried by his momentum, stumbled and fell. Sherlock turned away with an annoyed sigh and took another sip of his beer, checking from the corner of his eye that the drunkard wasn't getting up again.   
It certainly was not his fault that the populace did not like to hear the truth.  
Watson would surely not agree, but Watson was too busy eagerly pouncing on Mary's petits fours. This treacherous and perfect wife deprived him from the company of his dear doctor friend, and that Sherlock had trouble accepting.

Distracted from his somber thoughts by lively music that swirled in the tavern, the detective watched the musicians with what was closest to admiration the bows slide with virtuosity and energy on the strings of the violins.

A man, less drunk than the one currently dozing with his nose affectionately snuggled against the floor, patted his shoulder. Sherlock suppressed the urge to turn away when he felt the putrid and highly alcoholic breath jump at his face.

"You must've got it wrong, it's my seat. Piss off, poof." Bellowed the newcomer, voice gruff and serious, words slightly slurred.

The detective quickly sized up the man with a disdainful look, his mind quickly drawing a profile of the thug before him.

Worker and heavy drinker, he seemed accustomed to fighting, which he intentionally caused for his own amusement. Sherlock vaguely understood the reason for this kind of behavior, a solitary and sad life probably, the person had then taken refuge in a life of violence in which he was master of all, and where sadism procured the poor man great satisfaction, even if ephemeral and volatile.

Allowing a slight smirk to twist his lips, Sherlock turned and grabbed his mug to greedily swallow the liquid.

"No."

This was, according to him, one of the most infuriating answers one could give. Add to it the mischievous smile and provocative look, it usually resulted with the person looking about to break his neck, manually or just by a glare.  
He could almost see the poor man's brain trying to assimilate his response

"You didn't get it, buddy. Get out of there before I whack you." Repeated the drunkard, roughly slapping a hand on his shoulder. He tensed immediately, hardly enjoying the contact. He flashed a false amiable smile, turning around to imitate the gesture. The man drew back imperceptibly, seeming deeply uncomfortable now that he was on an equal footing with the detective.

"And I politely repeat: no. This place is most comfortable and allows me to enjoy the show. Go and you find yourself another one, mate." Sherlock finished with a friendly yet patronizing pat on the man' shoulder. He growled like an animal, raising a fist that would wipe off the smug look on Sherlock's face.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Colin." Interjected a female voice.

They turned as one towards the barmaid, who addressed a discreet nod to the detective.

"A problem, bird?" Colin spat with a lustful glare. The barmaid's face took a sullen expression but she said nothing.

"This man would beat you in no time." She said with a triumphant look, her eyes bright with mischief.

From the corner of his eye, Sherlock could see patrons exchanging money. Were they making a bet?

"I'd like to see that." Colin whispered as he approached the woman, his yellow teeth bared. Sherlock could almost smell his foul breath from where he had remained seated.

The bet was on.

"Leave her alone." He ordered curtly, his dark eyes detailing each feature of the drunkard's face as if to threaten him to try and move even one eyelash.   
"I dare you to fight in hand combat. You win, I'll leave the girl to your good pleasure." He started, his face twisted with clear disgust.

"If I win, you will never set a foot here again. You have a fascinating life, and I would loathe to keep you away from it. "Sherlock finished with a smug smile, he knew it irritated his opponent far too much.

Colin nodded with a growl. Patrons then turned away from their bets, interested by the sudden silence heavy with tension. The barmaid had hoped they would fight outside but she was mistaken. 

Ducking to avoid an awkward but strong right hook, Sherlock turned and in one fluid motion sent his fist meet the man's yellowed teeth. No method, no hits planned in advance, it was a simple fight that Sherlock would win hands down.   
Oh and how he needed this fight. He had found this new tool to let off some steam.

Colin grunted again and responded with a jab that the detective stopped with an elbow block before striking back with a massive hit to the liver. 

Alcohol made his opponent less sharp indeed, but it also lessened the sensation of pain. Colin was quite burly, his fists were like bricks and really none of that was in the detective's favor. But he was Sherlock Holmes, good God. He'll be damned if he couldn't beat a simpleton with his bare hands.

Colin was crushing his throat with his fingers similar to sausages, keeping Sherlock effectively wedged against the counter with his body. He was being crushed underneath the other's weight and struggled to draw a full breath.   
He inhaled as much air as he could, before sending a well placed kick in Colin's groin. His foot hit the expected target and the drunkard let go, allowing Sherlock to escape as he took a few steps back, slowly catching his breath.

The man grunted and grumbled under his breath while Sherlock remained with his hands on his knees, face flushed and breathing heavily. The sight was quite comical to the patrons who were patiently waiting for the end game.

Both fighters raised their head, staring at each other silently for a second. Then skin turned purple under the repeated and incredibly precise assaults of the detective, who grimaced and groaned under the fists that had dislocated his shoulder and probably broke a wrist.

Ribs cracked under his knuckles and he smirked triumphantly. His hands got tinged with bright red when he broke the nose of Colin with a sharp and swift blow. Brute force was only inconvenience against speed, precision and agility.  
Colin used some momentum to throw a fist towards Sherlock's face, who stepped aside, grabbed the man's arm to twist it behind his back and pressed on his elbow joint. The bone cracked under the exerted pressure and Sherlock grimaced slightly, he could keenly feel the break under his fingers.  
Colin staggered as he cradled his wounded arm, his face distorted by pain and hatred. Screaming in rage, he threw himself on Sherlock, perhaps hoping to destroy the man with his weight alone as a weapon.

With a startled cry, the detective slid flat on a table, -knocking on his merry way the customers' drinks- and crashing unceremoniously on the floor stained with liquor and cigar ashes. Blessed were the alcohol and adrenaline that kept him from feeling the pulsing pain in his dislocated shoulder.

He quickly established a list of his injuries. Apart from his dislocated shoulder and injured wrist, a few scratches and bruises that would reveal themselves the next day, Sherlock didn't have cause for worry. His clothes reeked of beer since the drunkard had thought wise to throw some on him as a distraction.

Really.

Watson probably wouldn't approve any of this, Sherlock thought, standing square and ready for a new round. Colin was almost in front of him, awkwardly bypassing the tables and chairs in his intoxicated state.

"Is that all? I expected better. Are you going to continue to whine like a farm girl or are you gonna fight? "Sherlock exclaimed, gracing the other with a provocative smile, whose lips were curled like a raging wild beast.

No, Watson really wouldn't approve but he would be greatly amused, Sherlock was sure of it.

Colin rushed forward with a howl towards Sherlock. It was almost comical. The horrible monster throws himself, almost in slow motion on the defenseless creature. The creature here was far from being defenseless however. The drunkard fell like a log when the detective hit his throat with a stiff gesture.

Colin remained unmoving on the floor and showed no signs of wanting -or being able- to get back up.

Sherlock sighed slightly, dusting his hands in a comic gesture. The barmaid flashed him a grateful smile while the applause and laughter abounded. They handed him a mug of beer and he accepted it with a smile, swallowing its content with a voracious thirst.

The winners of the bet offered him even more drinks, to his amusement. Sherlock accepted half of them, he was too busy dancing to the rhythms of violins and drums that fluttered in the air.


End file.
